


I'm So Bored

by Sad_Not_Angry



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Hallucinations, M/M, Mental Illness, Schizophrenia, Self Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, joshler - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2019-11-28 19:00:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18212315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sad_Not_Angry/pseuds/Sad_Not_Angry
Summary: It might do you some good to read my other fic "Haven't You Taken Enough From Me?" before giving this a read.Tyler figures out after being so out of control for so long, having a quiet brain can be boring. The medications are doing everything they need to, but who is he without all of the chaos? He begins to look for ways to make himself feel more, but all of his vices only make him worse.





	1. Chapter 1

I sit and stare at the wall, zoning out for who knows how long. It’s a day off of work, Josh is visiting his mom, and I have nothing to do.

I’ve been living with Josh for about a year now. My life has drastically improved in all ways since moving in with him. He stuck with me throughout trial runs of medication after medication, and now I’m finally stable. I found the right medication cocktail and now I am fine.

In remission, actually. I just have to keep taking them.

I don’t feel like it though. Lately I’ve been thinking too much and focusing on the fact that I am not really who I used to be. I feel like I’ve lost parts of myself with the remission diagnosis.

I find it easier to get angry, something I hate. I get angry over little things and I don’t know how to express it, so I usually end up trying to break things. I’ve been trying to get that under control. I miss my hallucinations and weird ideas, too. I don’t know why.

I think I’m getting depressed again.

Every time I try to bring these things up with my psychiatrist, he always says the same thing. I’m just not used to stability. It’ll take time. But how much time will it take to get used to being a completely different person? It seems like all my compassion has left. I feel kind of braindead.

I stand up from the couch and walk to the bathroom, where my medication rests. I take two pills out of the bottle and drop them in the toilet. I flush them. 

Can I survive without being so sedated? Everyone will surely notice when I’m off of them.

I set the pill bottle on the counter and wonder if I should just start drinking. Like my father. Like so many other schizophrenics. It doesn’t seem like that bad of an idea. I’ve never gotten drunk before.

I don’t have a car to go anywhere and get alcohol though. And if Josh found out he’d probably try to have a talk with me that I would rather not have. I entertain the idea for a few more minutes.

And then, the next thing I know, I’m walking down the street with my wallet in hand. 

I get to the gas station that’s a few blocks away from home, where I used to buy cigarettes. I get some of the fruity flavored beer and ask for a pack at the front counter. I flash my ID and run my card and then I’m on my way home. 

I didn’t expect it to be that easy, for some reason. 

I make it home with a few hours before Josh is expected to be back. I stare at the bottle in my hand before cracking it open. Twist off.

The first drink was the worst. I took a huge gulp, not expecting the cough syrup cherry flavor to be so strong. I can feel my nose scrunch up. But I keep drinking. 

Something about the warm way it burns my stomach entices me.

***

When Josh gets home, I am sitting on the livingroom floor. I puked once about a half hour earlier. I smile at him widely, so drunk that I forget the bottles scattered around me. Josh looks really concerned and makes his way over to me while asking, “Tyler, what are you doing?”

I laugh a little, the question seeming a lot funnier than it probably is. It just seems so obvious. “I’m drinking alcohol,” I answer.

Josh takes a seat next to me on the floor and looks at the scene laid out before him. “I’ve just... never seen you drink before. This is a little out of character for you, babe.”

I nod, “I got bored.”

He nods back and doesn’t really do anything for a minute. Then he picks up my empty bottles and tosses them in the garbage before taking a seat on the couch. He pats the seat of the couch, gesturing for me to come sit. I do.

“Ty, I’ve been kind of worried about you. Are you okay?” He looks really concerned. The look sobers me for a moment, but then I laugh.

“You shouldn’t worry about me, I’m doing great,” I really am. This is the best I’ve felt in weeks. Josh just sighs and wraps his arm around my shoulder. I snuggle into his side with a smile on my face.

“I love you,” I say.

“I love you, too,” He practically whispers.

Josh and I end up hanging out on the couch until I felt a little more normal. I fell asleep on him for a couple minutes. The room eventually stops spinning and my stomach calms and my mood is back down to normal. 

I find myself wanting more alcohol, and I think about going and buying more. Then I’m hit with the thought-- is that how addiction starts? How do I already want more so badly when this is one of the first times I’ve ever drank?

I vow to myself silently that I will not let alcohol control me. Though I’m pretty sure it already does.


	2. Chapter 2

[Josh POV]

I don’t know how to explain the uneasy feeling i’m getting from Tyler’s drinking. He doesn’t really care what time it is, he just thinks that when he has nothing to do it’s okay to drink. Maybe that’s because of his time thing, he’s never really registered time as an important thing. I’m worried about him, he’d seemed a little low for the week prior. He was getting moody and quiet again.

And finding him in the livingroom with five bottles next to him out of nowhere... I’m just worried he’s going to get worse again, after all the progress he’s made toward his remission diagnosis. 

Right now we’re cuddling in bed in our underwear. He’s kissing my chest lightly and whispering about how much he loves me. I kiss the top of his head and say back just how wonderful he is, and how much I love the person who he’s grown to be.

He stopped hurting himself a few months ago, all the scars on his body are now fading. Healing. He’s healing. 

I squeeze him tight, he lets out a little noise and a giggle. When I loosen my grip he pulls back and smiles up at me. Hes gotten much better about making eye contact.

“I think you’re the greatest person I’ve ever met,” he says. 

“You’ve met yourself though,” I say back. 

He rolls his eyes and leans in for a long kiss. I run my fingers through his short hair, then rub his back while we’re kissing. I love him so much. 

I don’t know if I can help with his drinking at all. He just dismissed everything I say about it. He says it makes him feel better about being so numb.

I try to remind him what his psychiatrist said, that he’s not numb, he’s just not feeling hell all the time. That it’s good that he’s finally reached a baseline normal. He doesn’t listen. 

.

 

[Tyler POV]

It’s not like I’m getting worse. I’m just having fun again. I’m feeling something other than flat, and it’s nice. 

I’m really hammered. The room is kind of spinning and I can’t close my eyes without feeling nauseous. Josh is at work, I still have a few hours to be a little more normal. 

Today I went to a liquor store and got vodka instead of just beer, it tastes like garbage and gets you way drunk way quick. 

My phone alarm chimes, distracting me from the dizziness I’m feeling for a minute. It takes me a minute and I kind of have to squint to read what the screen is saying. It’s time for me to take my medication.

I get up and stumble into the wall, then head for the bathroom. I keep my pills on the counter. 

When I get in, I close the door and allow myself to sink to the ground. Maybe I should take them. I haven’t for the past two days because I accidentally forgot. But the funny thing is, I’ve kind of felt really good. I don’t feel the pressing needs to eat or sleep like I usually do. I have started hallucinating again, but nothing I can’t manage. I’m really fine. 

I decide to skip them again today.

I just won’t tell anyone. In my intoxicated state, my brain is sure nobody will notice. Not Josh, not my therapist. Speaking of therapy, that’s in a few days. I try to make a mental note of that, but quickly forget it. 

I half crawl out of the bathroom to the livingroom, and lay on the couch. Everything’s fine, I’m doing okay. I can handle this. 

.

It’s been ten days since I’ve taken my medication. I’m in a really bad place, but I don’t really know why. I should be fine. I curl up on my bed that I share with Josh. I was supposed to be at work, but I asked to leave early and walked home. I’m just not feeling good. I kind of want to cry. 

For the first time in a while, all the chaotic bad feelings that are hidden away have come out. I take a few deep breaths and hide under the blankets, trying desperately to feel safe. I can feel my heart beating faster than normal, I’m panicking. But over what?

I toss and turn for a while, trying to sleep it away. My brain is much too loud though. I decide now is a great time for vodka. 

I drink too much at once, just wanting it all to stop. And in a little while I feel kind of better, so I drink some more. 

Then I started to feel a lot worse. 

I am all of a sudden not alone in my kitchen. I feel my dads presence even if I don’t see him, even if he’s not physically here. My brain starts making me think things, about how he used to hit me and call me worthless, lazy, stupid, a burden. My chest aches and tears fill my eyes. 

He was right, wasn’t he?

It’s like I can hear him, smell his breath, feel his hands grabbing me by the bicep and throwing me into walls. I close my eyes and cover my ears with my hands. 

“Stupid, Tyler, you’re a fucking idiot,” it’s not my dads voice this time. It’s Blurry. He grabs me by the throat and I start to have trouble breathing, causing me to panic. 

I kneel on the ground and gasp for air, “You should’ve killed yourself a long time ago, done everyone a favor.” 

All the things he says to me turn into my feelings somehow, somehow it’s now both of us thinking this at once. He starts putting pictures of my wrists cut open in my brain. I haven’t hurt myself in so long, I actually have been craving the feeling for a few days now. 

I look around for something to cut myself with. “The razors in the tool kit under the sink,” Blurry says. 

I follow his directions and find them exactly where he says. I all of a sudden feel like I’m melting, like I’m going to be just bones. My hands are shaking and everything has a strange red tint to it. I hold my breath for the first cut. 

As soon as I see my skin rip open I drop the razor. I accidentally cut too deep, I haven’t done it in so long I forgot how to be careful. 

My wrist is bleeding a lot. The cut is gaping. It’s way too close to important veins and arteries. At least, I think. I heard people kill themselves by cutting like I just did. I start to panic before Blurry tells me it’ll be okay. He tells me to do more. 

I’m more careful this time, as I lightly drag the blade down my wrist lengthwise. It feels good. I forgot how good it felt. 

I can still smell my father, hear his words. I begin to cry, but still I continue hurting myself. I can’t tell why, but I’m dizzy. I hear something, but I can’t tell what it is over the loud static that my brain is making. 

All of a sudden there’s a hand on me. I yelp and shove it away, my head telling me it’s my father. I scoot back and look up at who’s here. It’s my dad, there’s something off but I swear it’s him. 

He’s approaching me with his hand out, I begin to cry harder and scoot back on the floor until my back is pressed up against the cabinets. When I don’t have anywhere else to go I raise up my hands to protect myself from any swings he will throw. “Please don’t hurt me,” I cry out. 

How did he find me? How did he get in? He’s going to kill me, I know it. I know he’s here to finally kill me. 

I can’t bear to open my eyes, I just brace for impact.


	3. Chapter 3

[JOSH POV]

When I entered the room, I heard Tyler crying. I am immediately worried and go searching for him. I find him bleeding and cowering on the kitchen floor. 

I’ve walked in on this scene so many times before, but not for a long time. I feel like the wind got knocked out of me. I touch him gently but pull away when he jumps and looks up at me. I approach him slowly with me hand out, “Ty, give me the blade.”

I’m trying to keep my voice gentle and caring but Tyler is a mess. I watch him panic and scoot away from me on the floor, bringing his arms up to protect himself. He asks me not to hurt him.

“Tyler,” I say soothingly, “Baby, it’s okay.”

I kneel down on the ground and grab each of his hands in one of my own, bringing them down so he can look at me again. He’s shaking horribly and smells like booze, and there’s a horrible fear in his eyes when they meet mine. 

Then recognition. 

“Josh?” He asks, voice strained from crying. 

“It’s me,” I say, and drop one of his hands so I can cup his face in my palm. His eyes fall closed and he leans forward into me, pressing his wet face up to my shoulder. I hold him for a minute before examining the cuts on his wrist. 

Two of them look bad, really bad. “I’ll be right back, okay?” I say. 

Tyler nods and I go to the bathroom to get a washcloth. When I return, Tyler is still sitting on the floor. He looks kind of pale. I kneel down next to him again and press the washcloth to his wrist. 

“I think I need to take you to the ER to get stitches,” I say to him softly. He looks scared and sick, but nods gently. 

.

[TYLER POV] 

I want to fall asleep. The car is moving so fast and I’m staring through the windshield. Everything is fake all of a sudden. It feels like I’m in one of those driving video games. I look over at Josh, who’s facial expression I can’t read. 

There’s no music on the radio. All I hear is Blurry telling me I should just go to sleep. Every time I try though, something wakes me back up. My heart starts beating faster and I can’t keep my eyes closed. 

I look down at my wrist. It’s bleeding still. I forgot that I was supposed to be holding the washcloth on it. I don’t even know where it went. I had it when I got in the car. 

I touch the biggest cut, pushing it open and exposing the flesh underneath. I get this sick sense of satisfaction, but I’m not sure if it’s my feelings or Blurry’s. Maybe it’s both. Maybe we’re more alike than I used to think. 

I should’ve died a long time ago. I should’ve died before I met Josh. I should’ve died the first time my dad really beat me. 

“If you don’t get stitches you might bleed out,” Blurry suggests. 

All of a sudden, “I don’t want to go to the ER,” comes out of my mouth. 

Josh throws a glance at me, then looks back at the road, “It won’t be too long.”

Something about the way he says it makes me feel wrong inside. I look at him, really look at him. “He’s anxious,” Blurry says, “He’s hiding something.”

Before I get the chance to question Josh, we are pulling into the parking garage for the hospital. When I stand up from the car seat, I get really dizzy and Josh has to steady me. Something about the parking garage is wrong, like everything is diagonal and a film of static is over it. The world is spinning and I feel like I’m seeing a different plane of existence than what my body is conscious of. 

Josh wraps his arm around my shoulder and presses the forgotten washcloth against my wrist. He guides me into the sterile, white hospital. Blurry is protesting and it’s making me extremely anxious. My hands start to shake again.

When we check in, I get a bracelet with my name and birthday on it. I look up from my bracelet and somehow I’ve gotten into a wheelchair, and I’m being pushed into a white room with a single bed in it. 

Someone is speaking to me, I think, but I can’t really hear what exactly they’re saying. I look at Josh and his mouth is moving, he’s talking to a doctor. 

I lay back in the bed and close my eyes. I just want to sleep. 

.

“Tyler, can you look at me?” I hear as I wake up. I am groggy and I feel like I don’t have any legs. I check to make sure they’re there before looking at who was speaking to me. A woman stands next to the bed I’m laying in. How did I get here? 

I look around. I’m in a hospital room. There’s a needle full of fluid in my arm. I have a bandage on my left wrist. “Tyler, I’m a social worker. I just want to talk to you for a little bit, alright?” 

I look up at her, squinting against the harsh lighting. I kind of have a headache. “Okay,” I say to her, unsure of what else to say. 

The woman smiles and introduces herself, then lets me know Josh is in the waiting room. All of a sudden I remember how alone I am without him here. I pull into myself a little. 

“Can you tell me why you hurt yourself, Tyler?” she asks. 

I look at my wrist again, trying to remember why I cut myself. It’s all foggy and distant. I close my eyes again, still tired. “Blurry told me to do it. Then my dad was there but I think Josh scared him away.” I say. 

“Is Blurry a friend of yours?” She asks. 

The question makes me laugh a little, “Blurry hates me. He says I should have died.”

“Tyler, are you aware you’re schizophrenic?” The question stings a little, I don’t know why. I open my eyes and look at the social worker. Then I give a nod. 

“Does Josh ever hurt you, or put you down?” She asks hesitantly. 

At the mention of his name, the want for him to be near me comes back full force. I feel like a child. I feel so scared. “I want Josh,” I say back to her, “He’s always nice to me.”

The social worker asks me more questions with the promise of seeing Josh after. Some of the questions confuse me, and I think I must be having a hard time finishing sentences all the way because the social worker keeps asking me what I mean. 

Josh is eventually let back in the room, and he comes to give me a big hug. He sits on the edge of the bed and holds my hand. 

“Tyler,” the social worker says, but her voice sounds robotic now. Electric. “I think you would benefit from taking some time away from your every day life. I think you may have more stress than you know how to deal with healthily. Have you ever gone inpatient before?”


	4. Chapter 4

[TYLER POV]

I hold onto Josh, crying quietly. He’s rubbing my back. “It’ll just be for a while, Tyler, til you start to feel a little better. I can’t take care of you like they can.”

I shake my head and grip onto him tighter, “I don’t want to be alone,” my voice shakes as I speak. 

I feel Josh kiss my hair, “You won’t be alone, baby. There will be people there with you.”

I shake my head, that’s not what I meant. Anywhere that isn’t with Josh is alone. Being in a locked unit full of strangers is what it means to be truly alone. I wonder if Josh will even visit me. Maybe he’s just putting me there to get rid of me. Maybe I’ll try to come home and he’ll tell me he can’t do it any more. 

“You don’t have to stay long,” Josh says, “But you really need some help, baby.”

Josh’s voice has this edge to it. I can tell he feels bad. I can tell he’s stressed. I’m wearing on him. I think quietly for a few minutes, then sigh. 

“Fine,” I say softly, “Fine, I’ll go.”

.

[JOSH POV]

It’s been a day and a half since Tyler was put in the inpatient unit. Visitations weren’t allowed yesterday, but today they are. I wait for the security guard to let me into the unit. 

When I enter, a nurse asks who I’m here for. I tell her Tyler. She gives me a look and then goes down a hall. 

In a few minutes, Tyler is coming down the hall toward me. He looks to tired. I wrap him up tightly in my arms and press my lips to his head as soon as he’s within my reach. “Hey, baby.” I say.

“Hi,” he peeps back, “I missed you.”

I tell him that I missed him too. I didn’t really sleep last night because I didn’t have his warm body next to mine. The apartment feels lonely. I wonder how long he’ll have to stay. 

He takes me to a room with a few other people in it and sits next to me, not letting go of my hand. “I can’t sleep here,” he says softly, “I’m really anxious.”

“I’m sorry, Ty. It’ll get easier,” I try to assure him. He just nods. 

“What do you do here?” I ask. 

“I color a lot. Writing. They have groups that teach us about meds and feeling things,” he mumbles the next few words and I can’t really tell what he said.

“I want to go home,” he starts up again; he sounds really sad. I scoot closer to him and wrap my arm around his shoulder. He leans into me and kisses my jaw softly. We’re both quiet for a minute. 

“I’m sorry,” Tyler sounds like he’s about to cry, “I was doing good. I’m sorry for getting like that.” 

I pull him closer and he crawls out of his chair onto my lap, “It’s okay,” I whisper to him, “I just...” 

I don’t really know. I didn’t know what to do. When he started doing so much worse so quickly I panicked. 

I knew if I didn’t help, he was going to die. I couldn’t just stand by and watch everything we’d made together go down in flames.

“I just want you to be safe,” I finish. 

Before Tyler started to decline, I had been thinking of our life together. I came to the conclusion that if I could spend the rest of my life with him, then I would be happy. 

I don’t know when the right time to ask would be. Not now, maybe not for a while. But I’m going to ask. 

Tyler pulls me out of my thoughts with a question, “Do you- does this make you think I’m bad? Like I’m crazy or something?”

I shake my head, “No. I just think you need a break.”

The rest of our time together is spent quietly. We kiss a few times, but I think we both feel a little weird showing each other that much affection in front of other people. I notice we’re pretty much constantly being watched. By nurses, by other patients, by visitors. 

I can see why Tyler is uncomfortable here. 

.

[TYLER POV]

I don’t sleep here, I just lay in bed until about 4 am, when they set out coffee, and I get up. It’s about 6 am now and there’s only one other person up. He’s older than me, maybe twice my age. 

Hearing the stories of how other people ended up here makes me feel a little bit better. At least I know I’m not the only one that drank until they lost their shit. There’s a girl in here that ate an entire bottle of Benadryl. 

I’ve been coloring a lot, since that’s all that there is to do in here. We can’t even go outside. 

I stare out the window, imagining my first breath of fresh air after getting out of this place. I’ve been here for five days. 

Josh visits me a lot, as much as he can. It makes me feel less alone and gives me something to look forward to. I sometimes call him from the patient phone before bed. 

I pick at my styrofoam cup full of watery coffee and try not to feel hopeless. 

.

“Antipsychotic medications can be used as antidepressants and mood stabilizers as well. They’re great for treating anything from schizophrenia and bipolar type one disorder.” The lady speaking writes down names of antipsychotics next to the list of mood stabilizers. I’ve taken some of the medications she’s written on the board, but for some reason she doesn’t write down the one I’m on. 

I want to ask about it, but there’s about seven other people in the room and I don’t want to speak. I just want to listen to music. 

“Antipsychotics can make you more tired, and often times cause some weight gain,” she says. 

My eyes unfocus as I stare at the ground in front of me. Her voice goes mute. I begin disassociating. 

Nothings really real any more, but my heart is still racing. I feel like ripping out my hair and hitting my head against the wall until the drywall breaks open. 

I’m not sure how long I focus on those thoughts, but when I zone back in people are leaving the room. I stand up and hold my arms close to myself as I hurry back to my room. 

I lay on the uncomfortable excuse of a bed and curl up tight. I want to sleep so badly. 

Today in a group we had to share how we got here and what was wrong with us. One girl actually went through with killing herself, she was brought back to life. I thought about how she kind of has two birthdays now. 

One guy denied that he even needed to be here, but I think he did. He was like me, kind of. He was okay, just addicted to drugs. He took too many and started having a bad time, and he thought killing himself seemed like a great idea.

When it came to me, I didn’t really know what to say. I said I was doing okay until I went off my medication. Then I had a psychotic episode while I was already drunk. I told them about hallucinating my dad, who used to hit me. I told them it was actually my boyfriend in the kitchen with me.

People were pretty nice to me about it. 

Even though everyone is understanding of things like psychotic episodes and dads that hit you, I still feel. Something. 

Anxious. I feel trapped. 

I can’t leave until they tell me I can. I want to leave now. I’m back on medications and I am feeling fine, I guess. As fine as I can feel while on them. 

I still want to die. I haven’t told the doctors that, though. I haven’t told Josh. I keep that to myself because nobody can understand my thoughts on the subject. 

I am torn between being a psychotic mess, or being dulled to the point of numbness. Reliving my trauma daily, or barely feeling anything about it at all. Being someone who I’ve known myself to be for so long, or taking on a new identity. One that I am not comfortable with. 

I don’t want this to be my life. 

I wish I was never born.

**Author's Note:**

> reading my first fic will give you insight on some things in this story, but reading it isn't a necessity. again i'm writing to get some feelings out mostly, and tylers addictions and mental illness are heavily based on things im experiencing. if any of you have any requests as to what to write i will do my best to do it! just leave a comment.


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